Hasty Coronavirus
Episode 10
Hey, it’s us. We’re back. I hope you didn’t miss us. Sorry for the delay in posts, we’ve been backpacking across south america for the past couple of months. I hope we didn’t miss too much, like our dumb cousin getting married or the Grammys. When do the Grammys happen? Here at HC Poetry, we’ve come to the unanimous decision that the Grammys could either have happened every month for our entire lives or have been a complete fabrication of our collective memories. Not, like, a drug thing, kind of like when your mom is convinced that she saw that one kid you went to 2nd grade at TJ Maxx and she’s like “I definitely saw that one kid you went to 2nd grade with. Remember? His mother was a sweet lady, made the cupcakes with the frosting and the father was shaped like a lava lamp? That had another daughter, too, Kelly.” and you’re like “mom, that kid doesn’t exist, you’re describing the Osbournes. Ozzy, Sharon, Kelly, and Jack Osbourne. Of Osbourne fame.” Anyway, kind of like that. Leave our metaphors alone- we’ve been BACKPACKING.
We hope you did not miss us too much. We did not miss you. Unless you wanted us to. In that case, we did not miss you. Sorry, we are unable to fake emotion. All real, all of the time. It may seem cold, as in cold hard authenticity, baby. Here at HC Poetry, our work and everyday interactions have that HC Guarantee of only raw emotions, original work, and a deep-seeded feeling of emptiness. But we hope you enjoy this chapter- we hastily put it together, so be gentle. Or be harsh, we don’t care. We’ll be protected by the comfort of our homes for the rest of eternity. Stay inside.
